


The Christmas Party

by Jenalop3



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenalop3/pseuds/Jenalop3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Banner the introvert is ready to leave this party in the dust, that is until Natasha Romanov finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> My HulkWidowNet secret Santa gift for natashavevo on Tumblr, Merry Christmas my dear! Also BIG kudos go to jemmmasfitz on tumblr for betaing this mess.

The large ballroom, that Tony Stark was adamant the Avengers Facility needed, was decked to the nines. Garlands of fresh pine hung on the walls, twinned with delicate lights that sparkled and twinkled. Golden dressed tables were placed in a horseshoe formation around the dance floor, with a punch table pressed against one wood paneled wall. A large Big Band was set up along a raised stage, playing up-beat swing and jazzy holiday tunes for the swaths of party-goers who glided and jitter bugged across the dance floor.

Bruce sat back at his little corner table, content to munch on cookies and watch the Inaugural Avengers Christmas Party about him. Parties were an exhausting endeavor for him, even before he had a two ton rage monster to keep in check. You were expected to mix and mingle, making small talk with people you might have only met once. He was quite happy being the wallflower.

He watched as guests ‘oohed’ and ‘awwed’ at the four large trees set up in each corner of the ballroom. The members of the Avengers had split off into four groups to decorate the trees, which had quickly evolved into a giant game of who could out-do who.

Thor, Wanda, Hope, and Vision’s tree hung with delicate blown glass ornaments and a tasteful amount of tinsel (Vision was quiet enamored with the shiny stuff) and curling and weaving about the branches were tiny specks of light, moving and bobbing about with a mind of their own. Bruce couldn't tell if it was some Asgardian tech or if Hope had finagled something with ants, but he really hoped it had nothing to do with ants.

Steve, Scott, and Sam’s tree looked to be right out of a store front window from Steve’s childhood. Large multicolored screw in lights and an enormous amount of tinsel frosted the tree, strings of popcorn and cranberries ran like snakes about the boughs and little ornaments made of wood and paint hung from the branches. Sitting high at the top was an angel. A sweet little thing with her hands clasped and her head bowed in prayer. A golden halo sat about her head and her pure white robe flowed to brush the top of the tree.

While Steve, Scott, and Sam's tree was beautiful and quant and brought back memories of wholesome, “it's a wonderful life”-esque Christmas, Natasha and Clint’s tree was an ode to yanking Steve’s chain. It shone the brightest of the four, red white and blue bulbs hung bravely from branches. Spattered about where highly collectable Captain America ornaments, the Shield and the Winged Helmet were visible as well as a likeness of Steve. Red, white and blue ribbons circled the tree to the very top where they were caught in the claws of a victorious bald eagle. From the eagles mouth erupted a steady stream of sparkles. A fire hazard Bruce would be worried about if FRIDAY wasn't so competent at fire prevention, of which he and Tony had first hand experience.

Tony had had big plans for his tree; he’d wanted it to be completely robotic with an outer shell fabricated to look like an ordinary tree. Then, when the time was right, it would transform into a grand likeness of the Iron Man suit. Thank God Rhodey and Bruce were there to nix the idea. Instead they went with tasteful red and gold lights, and a slew of moving robotic ornaments, ticking cogs, and dry iced beakers. An antique toy train ran about the bottom of the tree with a tiny Lego Avenger dancing about on the top of the cars to match the Lego City that lived under the tree. Atop the tree they had sat sweet Dum-E, a Santa hat perched upon his grabber. He swung about, beeped and bopped to all the guests waving and having a grand ol’ time.

As beautiful as the ballroom was, he was feeling the familiar itch to retreat to somewhere nice and quiet. The labs perhaps, they would be nice and empty at this time, unless Jane had escaped Thor and Darcy. Still he made himself stay put and continued to cast his gaze about the ballroom.

Everyone was dressed to impress, women in sparkling dresses and men in sharp jackets. Little girls ran about in stockinged feet and poofy Christmas dressed, while little boys tugged at the collars of their sweater vests. Little Cassie Lang had gathered quite the following, she had paraded into the ballroom earlier that night, in a pretty purple dress and little ballet shoes, pulling Scott by the hand and beckoning for Puppy to follow. The ant, as big as a Labrador, followed faithfully behind the young girl, a bright sweater buttoned around her abdomen and thorax. Puppy freaked him out a bit, covered in short bristly hair with large alien segmented eyes, she scurried after the little girl, frantically clicking her mandibles and twitching her antenna. Despite Puppy's B Horror movie looks, she was a gentle giant, letting the children climb all over her and tug at her many legs, all she did in return was click and run her antenna over their giggling faces. Cassie was proud to show off her friend and take the other children on rides around the ballroom.

He spotted Clint watching the children play with the giant ant, as he chatted with few fellow agents. Now that Bruce was in the know, he could tell the man was missing his family and wished they could be here to play and have fun. It was none of Bruce’s business, but he thought the extreme caution was a little unnecessary at this point. It wasn't like this ballroom wasn't one of the safest places on Earth; other agents had families that they felt comfortable enough to bring. It was a shame the little Bartons couldn't be here playing with the other children and soaking up the Christmas atmosphere.

Bruce sipped from his glass and put the Barton kids out of his mind. He knew the other Avengers felt for the younger Bartons and had helped Tony pack the QuinJet to bursting with brightly wrapped packages. Bruce knew there were chemistry sets, dolls, a soft ducky for Nate, video games out the wazoo, and an assortment of Asgardians baubles. Maybe at one of the smaller get-togethers Clint will bring his family out of hiding; until then the mass of presents would have to suffice.

Speaking of Tony, he had pulled Pepper out onto the dance floor to attempt something between a side step and a stroke. Pepper must have been a glass or two of champagne in because instead of chiding him she giggled and laughed, head tilted back in glee. She eventually took pity on her genius billionaire-philanthropist-playboy-boyfriend and pulled him close, arms circling around his neck as he placed his hands on her hips. They swayed across the floor gently and elegantly until Tony threw in a surprise side-step that Pepper matched effortlessly.

Bruce was surprised to find Steve and Maria dominating a corner of the floor. From what he could tell, Maria was teaching Steve a dance that had some Latin flare, all swaying hips and weaving arms that Steve was picking up particularly well. He was red-faced as Maria pulled him closer and moved his hands from their respectable place under her shoulder blades, to low on her hips. To the Captain’s credit he never missed a step, even when Maria threw in a sneaky move with her hips that was definitely not family friendly. He snorted into his glass as he caught sight of Sam and Scott behind the pair making their own exaggerated attempts at Maria’s dance, Hope decidedly ignoring her counterpart.

Bruce jumped as a light hand rested on his shoulder, skimming across the expanse of his back and bringing him out of his ruminating. He looked to his right and caught a glimpse of red and pale green and a whiff of sugared flowers. He turned to his other side to find Natasha Romanov settling into the empty chair at his side.

“Who put baby in the corner?” Her red Cupid’s Bow lips lifted into a smirk, her raspy voice a low purr.

“Who said anyone put me here?”

The itchiness, that had been gathering with force behind his sternum and sending his foot to bounce, retreated somewhat at her appearance. She was beautiful tonight, he thought. She was wrapped in pale green silk with her long, blood red hair done up in a tasteful chignon. The pins holding her hair in place where studded with tiny rhinestones that matched the clear gems that hung suspended from her ears and neck by a thin invisible wire.

“You’re sitting here like a child sent to time out, looking for your chance to bolt.” She set her champagne flute on the pale gold table cloth.

“I wasn't going to leave, yet.” He scratched at his collar, glancing up at her contritely. She could always read him like a book, one of her many useful skill sets.

Instead of answering, she helped herself to a Christmas cookie from his plate. Her gaze drifted across the mass of gathered Avengers and SHIELD personnel, mimicking his earlier path.

“Hill better be careful, or else she might break Steve,” she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to him. “She’s gunning for him. Thinks she can have him all to herself before Christmas. Steve is a delicate flower, she’s pushing too hard.”

A chuckle burbled up his throat, surprising him. The mental image of Steve as a fainting damsel too much for him.

“I hardly think Steve is a flower.”

“Have you even met Captain Celibate?” She quirks an eyebrow and Bruce is forced to reconsider.

“The guys not uptight, just old fashioned,” he defended

She snorted. “Still, Hill is pushing too hard. She is going to scare him off.”

“Or she will just short circuit his brain.”

“Far more likely,” she agreed, and then pursed her lips in thought. “I think she’ll make it to second base, at least.”

They chuckled and lapsed into silence again. Bruce couldn't help but notice that she hadn't leaned back into her own chair. He felt the heat prickle at his collar as he rested his arm along side hers on the table top. As the band picked up a quick snappy jazz tune he watched her from the corner of his eye.

Her expression appeared serene, the picture of genteel amusement, as she let her eyes roam the ball room. Bruce could see a small tightening at the corner of her eyes, a rigidity to her posture that didn't quiet corroborate with the story she was playing out. Her fingers tapped out a rhythm on the table top, that Bruce was loath to call antsy, Natasha didn't do antsy. At least from what his half trained eye could tell.

She perked up a bit as Thor made a big show of retiring for the night. Yawning and stretching his arms high above his head, he said his good nights, shaking hands and leaving a kiss on Jane’s cheek. He didn't make it two steps to the exit before a slew of small children made a grab for his ankles. His booming laugh echoed through the hall even over the band, and he continued to shuffle, dragging the small boys across the floor on their bellies as they held on. A larger smile spread across her face as she watched the spectacle.

“Do you want to go dance?” she asked suddenly, without turning.

“Do you?” He was a bit surprised by her question.

“Yeah, why not.” She shrugged a bare shoulder.

He slipped lower in his seat pulling his drink closed.

“Come on, let's dance.” She stood, plucking at his elbow.

He sputtered, tripping over his chair. “I-I’m not a good dancer.”

“So?”

The beaming smile she sent his way filled his chest with something light and reckless. If he was young and stupid he’d be tempted to perform some ridiculous feat to impress her. Hell, he still might, as his feet followed her easily to the dance floor.

Natasha situated the two of them on a far edge of the floor, not completely out of view, but not where most eyes would land. Gracefully she twirled herself into his arms, his hands finding the small curve of her waist and the thin fingers of her left hand, her right hand finding a comfortable spot high on his shoulder. A slow, crooning variation of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” started, the woman’s voice low and smokey.

Taking a breath, Bruce started them off on a slow swaying circle, not journeying far from their corner. Bruce was out of practice, it had been years since he last truly danced. He found his steps were stiff and clumsy, far too robotic to be any good. He counted in time with the beat and made the conscious effort not to stomp on her feet, but Natasha was a pro, dodging his lumbering steps and saving her peep-toed pumps from destruction.

“Up here, big guy.” She gently guided his chin with her fingertip, meeting his eyes. Her expression was soft and indulgent, the sparkling gold light flickering off the pins in her hair.

“Stop counting and relax.” She moved her hand from his chin, down his chest, up under his arm to rest small and sturdy at the center of his back. Now leading, she pressed closer to him. “Don't think, just move.”

That he did. He let her swirl them across the floor, weaving in and out of other dancers. He kept his eyes on her face, the perfect heart shape of it, the pleasant flush working its way up her cheeks. Her eyes looked uncharacteristically wide in the colored lights.

“You know,” he said as he cast his eyes from hers, searching for something to talk about. “I thought spies only danced tango?” He winced, not the smoothest of things to say. He spun her out, hiding the blush rising on his cheeks.

“A silly stereotype perpetuated by inaccurate movies portrayals. A good spy has many dances in their repertoire.” Her smile turned devilish, and she performed a quick move that had her close to straddling his leg. “But if you wanted to dirty dance, all you had to do was ask.”

He didn't know if it was the expensive scotch he had been sipping, or perhaps a minor stroke, but he felt that breath of bravery once again fill his chest and he let his hand slip lower. “I can't promise I will be any good, but I’m a dedicated student.”

“Well in that case, here is your first lesson.” She wrapped an arm lazily around his neck, bringing them flush together and took off in a flurry of green silk. It was a quick flourish of inter-locking steps, first she, then he and so on. He could feel the exaggerated swivel of her hips under his hand with each step. She waltzed, flowing as smooth as water, just as graceful as she was in battle. Bruce, on the other hand, was just shy of a mess. He couldn't quite keep up with the faster pace, tripping over his own feet and holding on for dear life. Though he grew red, she laughed, happy and light, nothing like the sarcastic chuckles of the Black Widow. Her delight had him laughing along despite knowing it was his lack of grace causing her humor.

They had worked their way around the border of the dance floor, when a flash of color caught Bruce's eye. He lightly squeezed her fingers, requesting a slow of pace.

“Was that who I thought it was?” he asked, nodding toward the huge doors.

She craned her neck to get a better look over his shoulder. He stopped their dance and turned just as the lights grew dim and the music slowed before an all too familiar tune rang out.

A spotlight landed on the double doors as they slowly opened to allow Santa Claus to enter, a large sack thrown easily over his shoulder. The children all gasped and cheered as Santa waved, a large grin plastered behind the fake white beard. Jane and Darcy followed behind Santa and his growing mass of followers. Jane clutching Darcy’s arm as she tried not to snort into her wine, Darcy had her handy phone out and was happily recording the progress of Santa.

Thor made a good Santa and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh. Thor had got the laugh wrong, and the cushions stuffed under his coat were slipping, but he had embraced his role wholeheartedly. Marching around the dance floor and beckoning each and every child to join in his parade. He wended them through the crowd like a giant red Pied Piper, before settling himself on a chair in the middle of the dance floor. The children gathered around, tugging at his coat and chatting excitedly to each other. He picked each child out of the crowed, sat them on his knee and gave them a gift from his bag, patting them on the head and waxed on about being good and virtuous.

Looking about the room, at the mass of happy faces, Bruce felt the itch to go hide return. Not as strongly as before, but still the thought of his warm quiet apartment, with that article about deep space travel (he had been meaning to read for a while), the soft warm fleece blanket he kept over his cushy chair; it was starting to sound more and more enticing.

Natasha must have felt him shift restlessly because she squeezed his arm gently.

“You wanna make a getaway?” She leaned up to murmur in his ear.

“You could tell?”

“Banner, you are practically a book. Come on, they set out heaters on the walk way.” She tugged on his arm leading him to the glass French doors, half hidden behind long curtains.

Outside a snowfall had covered the facility grounds in white. Small, twinkling lights peaked out from underneath the hedge’s snowy caps, the golden light reflected off the falling snow throwing a warm orange haze. The fresh scent of snow, pine, and evening rode on the chill breeze. Natasha had been right, large industrial patio heaters lined the wall a few feet above their heads blowing a steady stream of heated air onto the walk. Still, the chill crept into the warm cocoon, and ever the gentleman, Bruce slipped his wool jacket over Natasha’s bare shoulders. She tugged at the lapels, pulling it tighter around her.

“Won't you be cold?” she asked, eyeing his thin dark blue button up.

He shook his shaggy head. “I'll manage.”

“Tough guy.” She quirked an eyebrow and started down the walk without him.

“Not really.” He stepped to catch up with her. He curled his shoulders, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I tend to run warmer than most people.”

“All the same.”

He caught up to her and they fell into a comfortable silence. She looked like she was made for the winter, pale milk skin blending with the white around them, dark lashes framed pale green eyes, and red hair standing out like blood on snow. She made her way down the walk, a Czarina inspecting her kingdom. Her head held high, the snow in her hair her crown, and his jacket her cape.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight.”

“You’re welcome?” He blinked.

“You don't enjoy large parties for a long time, but you kept me company instead of leaving, so thank you.” She knocked her elbow into his.

“Well then, it was my pleasure. Though honestly I think you could have found someone more fun than me. I'm not exactly the life of the party.” He let himself sink further into his shoulders.

She stopped and studied his face for a moment. Large eyes flicked over his tired and scruffy façade.

“I'm going to let you in on a little secret of mine. Parties make me… twitchy.” She searches for the word, picking it carefully out of her vast lexicon. Still her lips curled in distaste as if it wasn't the word she wanted, but it was the best one that came to mind. “It’s a little selfish, but I needed a distraction.”

And Bruce understood. He felt a little guilty he hadn’t guessed before, but it made sense. She was a creature raised in darkness and subterfuge. A party was never just a party for Natasha Romanov; it was a loud over-crowded gathering of potential marks or enemies. Even when it was held in a safe space, her mind would automatically switch into work mode cataloging people, places and things. Who could be an enemy, who could be used to her advantage, what could be used as a weapon, where she could escape and so on. It would be exhausting and stressful; it was something that he could relate to fairly well.

He smiled softly and reached out for her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Glad I make a good distraction.”

“Oh Doc, you have no idea.” Her voice sounded slightly wistful.

He thought back to every time Tony had to snap him out of daydreams that featured the spy in front of him. “I can imagine.”

Her expression was pleased and as open as he has ever seen it. Flaring in his chest, the bravery was back, insistent that he make some kind of move.

“Can I ask for one indulgence of my own?” he asked bending toward her, fisting his fingers in his pockets.

“It's only fair, I suppose.”

Not letting himself stall or second guess his actions, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It was quick and chaste, rough chapped lips against petal soft lips. He went to pull back a moment later, but a tug on his tie stopped him.

“Oh no you don't.” She pulled him closer, nipping playfully at his lips before pressing together.

This kiss lasted longer, a touch less chaste and a tad more clumsy haste. Their noses bumped and their teeth clicked, but she hummed with humor. Bruce couldn't find it in himself to care, especially with her hands running up his tie to grip the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He kissed her, hands cupping her neck, thumbs stroking the baby soft skin of her jaw. Her fingers were tight in his hair, nails digging wonderfully into his scalp.

She made a delighted little sound as he moved closer, closing what little gap remained, bearing down on her with a touch more force. Which she returned eagerly, opening her mouth to him and biting his lip lightly. Bruce let his hands drop from her jaw, skimming down her shoulders and sides to grip at her waist, the silk bunching under his fingers. He broke the kiss a second time, but instead of moving away, he nosed his way to the patch of skin below her jaw. He nipped and kissed at the spot, inhaling her perfume in the process. An intoxicatingly mix of lavender and sugar.

Natasha’s hands were content to tangle his already unmanageable hair. Tugging and running her fingers through the soft curls. She kissed as much of him as she could, but with his face buried in the crook of her neck all she had was a bit of neck and dark curling hair in her reach. Bruce worked his way back up her jaw, over her cheeks and back to her lips.

“From one introvert to another,” he breathed as he pulled away. “You wanna really get out of here.”

Her smile was languid and feline. “What did those Asgardians do to my quiet doctor?”

The blush deepened on his cheeks. “I have some Christmas specials saved on the DVR, if you were interested.”

“You know, I have never seen ‘It's A Wonderful Life’.”

He gasped and pulled away completely. “Oh, we are fixing that right now.”

He gripped her hand tight and tugged her in the direction of the nearest entrance. Their laughter rang out loud, all the way to Bruce’s apartment.

 


End file.
